


SnugBug Inc.

by Ivy_Brooks



Series: Dean/Cas Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Brooks/pseuds/Ivy_Brooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a professional cuddler employed by SnugBugInc. Dean is on the butt-end of a practical joke from one pesky little brother. </p><p>How else would Dean meet his future partner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	SnugBug Inc.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so professional snugglers are a thing, and I only just found this fact out. That fact spawned this fiction and well - enjoy, 'cause I sure did.

"Oh my God Sam fuckin' do it." 

"Shhh, shh I'm on the line!"

"HOLY SHIT HE'S ACTUALLY GONNA -

"Hello, SnugBug Inc. at your service, you're speaking with Donna, here to provide care and an open ear. How my I help you today?"

"I - I - fuck's sake Jo _shut up,_ " Sam clears his throat, blinking away the tears in his eyes, the tightness in his cheeks, "I would like to order an hour session, please."

"Of course sir." The woman's mid-western accent is a sweet drawl through the loudspeaker. "I'll just need a few details and then we can be right on our way, hon. What is your name, home address, and preferred time of session?"

"Dean Winchester. 83 Denver Lane, Lawrence, Kansas. As soon as possible." 

"Would you like your professional cuddler to be male or female?"

At this, Jo dissolves into a drunken fit of snorts. Sam pushes her off of her chair to stop the noise from carrying over, but it's too late. 

"Sir? Is everything alr -"

"Male." Same blurts out on the cusp of a laugh, watching as Jo becomes a puddle on the Roadhouse's sticky wooden floor. "Male." He repeats, calmer. "I need a - a man, please."

"Damn STRAIGHT DEAN NEEDS A MAN -"

Sam gently nudges her away with his foot, covering the cell's receiver. He quietly adds, "Could - could he be quite, uh, broad? Masculine shoulders, big hands. I need someone to hold me nice and _tight_ tonight."

Jo no longer has breath in her lungs to make sounds. 

"Of - of course. Sir. I'll, uh, put that request in your order notes. Our most available cuddler suited to your, ahem, needs can be at the address in..." There's keys being tapped, communication on the other side, "...one hour. Is that acceptable?"

" _God yes_." 

"That'll be at ten pm, hon. Are you sure you want it that late?" 

"Of course he wants it, he needs a MAN, lady!" Jo wheezes, and Sam finally breaks.

"Perfect." He cries into the speaker. "That's perfect."

He hangs up, and eventually joins Jo on the floor.

\---

Dean's just pulled on his Batman pajama bottoms, sat cross-legged on the couch and ready to watch a Trek marathon, when the doorbell rings. 

At ten o'clock. 

At night. 

"Damn girl scouts are persistent." He grumbles, tossing his bowl of cheesy popcorn aside. The chain slides off with a clack, and he swings open the door, half expecting the batshit old lady from next door to be giving him another lecture about playing his music too loud. But instead he finds... the hottest man to ever grace this earth?

This is it. Dean's obviously fallen asleep on the couch and is now dreaming porn scenarios. Thanks brain. 

"Uh." Dean's scrambled brain uses the only coping mechanism it has. "You the pizza delivery man?" Humour. 

The man does not smile. 

"You are Dean Winchester?"

It only occurs to him now that he's not wearing a shirt, and there's the tell-tale tackiness of cheese powder streaked across his cheek as he stands before this mystery Adonis in the dead cool of night. 

"The one and only. Say, um, mind telling me what you're doin' lookin' for this fine ass two hours to midnight?"

"You tell me." And the guy just - just _waltzes_ right on in, folding his jacket over the nearby armchair and toeing off his shoes. Like he freakin' lives here. His offbeat demeanor drips away into something warmer. Something naturally light and fond, and Dean closes the door behind him before realizing he could've just let a serial killer into his home. 

 _Attractive_ serial killer. 

Self-conscious, he rubs the backs of his hands across his stubbled cheeks to scare away any cheesy powder that might still be floating around, all whilst watching the dude sit down and make a comfortable dent in his blanket-ified couch.  


"I see you've already taken measurements to prepare for this. That was kind of you." The guy remarks, not unkindly, casually fondling the fleece blanket between his fingers, as if he isn't a complete and utter stranger. He rubs his hands together, and looks over to Dean with a quaint little smile that resides in the crinkles of his eyes more than his mouth. "I'm Castiel, by the way. Would you like to start?" 

Half-naked, in flannel Batman pajama bottoms and confused beyond all hell, Dean murmurs. "Uh. Start... what, exactly?"

Castiel squints at him, head tilted to the side, a curious little bluebird perched on a tree branch and _why_ that is so adorable to Dean he doesn't know. Startling blue eyes run over his body, assessing and clinical and making him downright fuzzy all over, before Castiel seems to come to a decision. 

"I understand. Beginner's nerves." He stands up, and beelines towards Dean, who gets a flash of 'SnugBugInc' stitched onto the guy's shirt before a warm hand wraps gently around his elbow and tugs him forward.

"Hey hey hey, whoa whoa, wait," Dean pulls himself away, "What are you doing?"

Dean is missing out on something here, because Castiel actually _rolls his eyes_. "My job, Dean." And then he proceeds to pull Dean to the couch, thump down onto it, and yank Dean's head down onto his chest, wrapping his thick arms loosely around him, one across the shoulder, the other across his hip, cozy and ten kinds of comfortable. Before Dean can even protest, Castiel's summoned the TV remote from the nether, and comments lightly. "Next Generation? Good choice." Before hitting play and settling back into the cushions, holding Dean more tightly against him.

Dean is stumped, shoulders drawn up tight and stiff as a board as he tries to comprehend what in the ever-loving fuck is going on. 

Sensing Dean's discomfort (about fucking time) Castiel loosens his grip slightly. "Donna sometimes exaggerates on the session forms." He murmurs, lips brushing the tips of Dean's hair. "You _did_ want to be held like this, didn't you? I must admit, the people that usually request these sessions are more emotionally raw than you seem, but nonetheless, I will try to be what you need tonight, Dean."

Suddenly, the SnugBugInc shirt and the forward-attitude make perfect sense, and their connection lights up in Dean's mind like the goddamn 4th of July.. 

"I'm gonna kill Sammy." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Look, dude -" Dean pushes himself up and all but smashes the pause button on the remote, freezing Patrick Stewart mid-sentence. Sorry Picard. "I hate to say this, but I think my goddamn moose of a brother put you up to this. He's probably laughing his ass off down at the Roadhouse as I speak. I'll pay you for your time, I promise, I'm sorry this -"

"You didn't request a session?" 

Dean stops dead at the almost - relieved? Expression on Castiel's face. Well damn. He's only know the guy for three minutes but the fact that he didn't even wanna cuddle with him depresses him a little. 

Wow, Dean is _thirsty_ for it. 

"No. Sorry dude." 

"Oh, thank God." Castiel breathes and yep, there goes Dean's self-worth, plummeting like it usually does every once in a while. He's starting to think the downtime is mandated. Castiel continues. "I couldn't fathom why somebody so attractive would need to hire another person to hold them when they could willingly get anybody to do it for free."

The Self-Worth-O-Meter perks back up, interested, back out of the negatives. 

"Uh." Dean runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Come again?" Castiel looks at him like he's stupid.

"You're one of the best looking clients I've ever had." He deadpans. "If we had met under normal circumstances - say, in a bar or, or somewhere I -" he starts to trail as he watches Dean's face change, "- I, uh, I would've at least bought you a drink."

The Self-Worth-O-Meter hits the three-digit numbers, and keeps on flying. The other man seems to take Dean's gaping expression as an offended one, and blushes right down to the roots of his mussed brown hair, and that's when Dean thinks he's already a bit smitten with this man. 

"I - I mean, if you, ah, if your orientation is - _that way_ , of course -"

"Castiel." Dean interrupts.

"Um. Yes?" And fucking hell, to see all that sure, smooth confidence of just minutes before being wiped clean out by stuttering nonsense just _wins_ Dean's over. 

"I'm gonna go get dressed, and then we're gonna go for that drink, yeah?" 

Castiel goes fucking _scarlet_ , and Dean's heart thuds. 

"I would - I would like that very much, Dean."

Dean winks. "Me too."

\---

"Damn it Sammy, why'd you have to tell this story at my goddamn _wedding reception._ "


End file.
